


In Love When You Wake Me Up

by spacesbetweenseconds



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Somnophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2012-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-22 11:19:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/609258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacesbetweenseconds/pseuds/spacesbetweenseconds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall is having a very shitty day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Love When You Wake Me Up

**Author's Note:**

> You know all that jazz about this being a work of fiction? Well, it is. Also, if your name is featured in this story, kindly turn back now.
> 
> I got a decent amount of inspiration from [this](http://1d-ficspiration.tumblr.com/post/30438963704/louciferpayne-but-how-much-would-harry-wake) 1d-ficspiration post, and it all started brewing in my head when I saw [these](https://twitter.com/NiallOfficial/status/251604829070323712) [tweets](https://twitter.com/NiallOfficial/status/251998355926970368) [from Niall](https://twitter.com/NiallOfficial/status/253769670040092672).
> 
> Title is from "Wake Me Up" by Ed Sheeran.
> 
> This has been neither beta'd nor brit-picked. Please excuse it or kindly suggest how to fix it.
> 
> originally posted [here](http://m-to-the-awleee.livejournal.com/5636.html).

Today is a shit day.

It starts out a shit day before Niall opens his eyes, as a shiver shakes through his body. He squints his eyes further shut than they already are, reaching behind him, palm outstretched, to find nothing (no one) there. His hand fumbles around for a minute or two, hitting various different parts of the mattress and hearing nothing but the dull thump of his hand on the mattress pad. He allows this to be confirmation of his current state: alone.

Niall likes his space. He knows it doesn’t seem like any of the boys do, because they’re always hanging on each other and holding hands and just constantly _touching_ , but he really values it. So, normally, this would be okay. But in a normal week, Harry would not have spent the past four nights at Niall’s flat—in Niall’s _bed_ —cuddled so close that they might fuse into one person. Niall has gotten used to this company, the constant heat of Harry’s breath on his neck.

So, he’s alone. That’s fine. He’s not bothered, really. Just cold. He has clearly been underestimating the amount of heat two bodies can produce, that’s all. He half opens one eye, cringing at the curtains left haphazardly open, mentally cursing the stream of light forcing its way in. He reaches down to untangle the sheets from between his legs, pulling the soft jersey up over his shoulders and shoving his face back into his pillow, now adequately covered. He tries to fall back asleep, but finds it hard to deal with all the empty space left in his bed. He can’t seem to find a good position.

After what he’d guess was ten minutes, he huffs audibly, shucking his covers and sitting up, supporting the brunt of his weight on the heels of his hands behind him. Finally, begrudgingly, he opens both eyes, and throws his legs out of the bed, feet onto the floor.

He’s not entirely sure he’s awake, so he thinks “creeping” is the best way to describe the lethargy with which he walks around his room, searching for his phone in the pockets of all his discarded trousers. Exhaustion from several days of video shoots and interviews has taken its toll, and Niall’s a mess. He just wants to be able to sleep, for once.

But of course, today is a shit day, and shit days never start out with enough sleep.

He hears a soft hum coming from the floor, right around his rumpled, black skinny jeans. Reaching into the back pocket, he retrieves his phone, not at all eager to see how much he’s missed, or even really what time it is. Scratch that, he’s forgotten that it’s probably a weekday and the time is actually important.

“Ah, fuck me,” he grumbles, seeing the illuminated **19% battery** and **8:07** staring back at him. He’s honestly amazed he can see anything though, over the missed texts, calls, and tweets completely covering the home screen of his phone.

**Harry, 22:16**  
 _hey ni u alright u seemed knackered tday x_

**Harry, 22:45**  
 _can i come over tnite x_

**Harry, 22:46**  
 _itll help u sleep ;) x_

**Harry, 22:51**  
 _cmon do i really have to ask? x_

**Harry, 23:20**  
 _…u alive over there x_

**Harry, 23:38**  
 _oookay nvm then c u in the AM_

**Liam, 7:10**  
 _niall we have an interview at 830 this morning dont forget_

**Liam, 7:43**  
 _Niall._

**Louis, 7:44**  
 _up all night last night then? ;) good on you_

**Harry, 7:50**  
 _if ud let me sleep over u wouldnt b late right now :P_

**Liam, 7:56**  
 _Niall. I’m serious._

**Zayn, 7:59**  
 _Mate where r ya? Liam’s losin it_

**Harry, 8:01**  
 _im not in the mood 4 one of daddy liams lectures get down here_

**Louis, 8:06**  
 _oOoOo youre in troubleeee_

**Liam, 8:07**  
 _Niall. I’m coming up to your flat in 2 minutes. You’d best be ready._

Niall’s palm comes up to meet his face for a number of reasons, most of which have to do with Harry, but also that even though he is dead tired, he’s still technically slept in. If he had only kept his trousers on for about an hour longer instead of ridding himself of them about two minutes after shutting his flat door, preferring to hang about eating leftover takeout in just his pants, he could have slept better, and that gets him good and annoyed. Rereading that last text, he scrambles to get a pair of trousers on in lieu of first changing his pants, knowing that when Liam concerns himself with proper capitalization and periods, he means even more business than usual.

“NIALL. Come on! We’ve got almost no time to get to this interview.” Ever the parent, even Liam raising his voice doesn’t constitute as yelling, just a loud concern for all of their wellbeing and reputation. Niall hears the sound of Liam’s fist pounding urgently against the door.

“’M coming, you cunt! Hold on!” Niall rushes to the door, wallet and phone less than gracefully shoved into his pockets, and unlocks it, still in the process of pulling his t-shirt over his head.

“I’m not a cunt. I’m sensible. Reliable.” Liam’s eyebrows knit together, confused by Niall’s less than chipper mood. He’s usually so… _Niall_ in the morning; usually, it’s one of them telling him to shut up or quit singing.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Niall seems to concede as he grabs his snapback, jumper and keys off the couch and shuts the door behind him. As they start walking down the hall, though, he continues, “I can always rely on you to be a right tosser in the morning.”

\---

They’re all in the car, and Niall is squished in the middle seat between Louis and Zayn. Louis, who has always been perpetually happy but even more so since moving in with El, does not pick up on Niall’s piss-poor attitude. His eyes gleam with that familiar, brazen mischief when he says, “Ni, have you seen the twitter trend?”

Niall perks up just the slightest bit at this. Maybe today won’t be complete shit; maybe it was just a rough morning. The fans had been trending _#morningnialler_ the past few days and he had more than once told them how genuinely happy it made him. The fact that enough people care to wish him good morning for it to go worldwide is a comfort. Plus, these days, the big things happen to them so much and so often that it’s all about the little things.

Just the smallest hint of smile peeks out of the corner of his mouth as he unlocks his phone, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with his free hand. Louis is snickering from behind the hand covering his mouth, but Niall disregards this, as Louis is usually up to something. When twitter finally loads, he checks the worldwide trends, looking up and down the list for his favorite trend, coming up empty.

And then he sees it.

Right there, in the middle of the list, he sees _#help1DfindNiall_. He groans, not wanting to check his mentions because he’s sure Louis tweeted something very similar to the text he received this morning, and he is, if possible, less in the mood than he was when he got shoved in the car.

Niall murmurs, “Ah, fuck off.” Although even he isn’t sure why he’s so upset.

Louis doesn’t even flinch, so proud of himself that he can’t feel the daggers Niall is staring into him at all. Niall’s pretty sure he can’t hate the fans, because most of them have been positively lovely, but he doesn’t think hating Louis and his shit-eating grin is out of the question.

\---

Harry spent the whole car ride sleeping on his own shoulder, practically rubbing it in Niall’s face, so when they pull up to the interview with what feels like seconds to spare, Harry looks like a rosy-cheeked cherub. The dimples, of course, don’t hurt the whole angel argument, but he just looks fresh-faced and ready to _carpe_ any _Diem_ he wants and just have his way with it.

Niall can’t be around Harry like this, all perfect in that Harry way of his. So, he excuses himself, heading to the toilet to get his shit together.

Zayn’s quiet. He knows how Niall feels, because sometimes they won’t let him smoke for a day, and he gets really edgy. Before Niall goes off, Zayn just grabs his hand and squeezes it tightly, looking at him with eyes that say, “It’s going to work out. Whatever it is. Really.” This is why Niall loves Zayn. He doesn’t ask, doesn’t need to know. Just wants him to be Niall-y again.

When Niall reaches the toilets, he realizes that maybe there’s more to this shitty feeling than he’d thought at first. If it were just awful karma, he’s sure he would have dropped his snapback into an already-pissed-in toilet or something of that caliber.

He wants to wonder how long that lo mein he scarfed last night had been in his fridge, but that thought is fleeting, and suddenly there’s no time for anything but holding his mouth and rushing into a stall, trying not to get any vomit on his white tee. He manages to get it all in the bowl, but that doesn’t make it taste any better or make him feel any better.

He knows he’s been gone longer than he should be, and he knows they’re waiting on him, but he’s crouched over a toilet bowl grabbing his stomach and feeling sorry for himself, so he can’t be bothered to care about the interview. It smells terrible in there, which doesn’t help ease Niall’s stomach.

The sound of the door opening distracts him from his thoughts. He leans to rest his cheek on the toilet seat so he can make out who’s come in.

“Niall?”

And Niall really can’t deal with this right now. He can’t deal with Harry being gorgeous and sympathetic, can’t deal with the fact that he cares about Harry seeing him like this, hunched over his puke looking weak and drained, can’t deal with how most of his shit day wouldn’t be happening if he didn’t have such an aversion to trousers.

“Niall, you alright?” Harry’s low drawl resonates through the whole room, booming and somehow soft all at once. Niall sort of hates how comforted he feels, but it’s not that he doesn’t like Harry or can’t imagine that they’re casually together, just that he’s such a mess as of late, and Harry’s always so put together. He wants to be able to comfort Harry sometimes too, is all. But right now, he’s not even sure he can hold down more vomit, so he figures being the comforter can wait.

He gives a weak groan from his place on the ground, and waits for Harry to follow the pathetic sound of his voice. He doesn’t want to push his luck and open his mouth just yet. When the stall door creaks open, he doesn’t have the nerve to look up, choosing instead to shut his eyes and groan again, relishing the still slightly cool touch of the porcelain.

“What’s this? I know you haven’t got a hangover, because you don’t _get_ hangovers.” Niall can hear the smirk in Harry’s voice, but thinks he can make out some sincere concern as well, some well-meaning intent behind the light banter.

“Bad take-away. Been feeling like shit all morning.” Well, that wasn’t so hard. Maybe it’s all out of his—nope.

Niall hears Harry wince as his face turns down into the bowl, his stomach emptying for what he hopes is the last time. He half expects Harry to run away, disgusted, but he just hears knees hitting the floor and feels a warm hand press lightly against his back, rubbing up and down. He lifts his head enough to wipe his mouth with his forearm, then lets it fall back to the seat, looking at Harry helplessly. Harry just leans over, wraps his arms around Niall’s middle from behind him and hugs.

“You should go home, Ni. You look a mess,” Harry whispers.

“I can’t. The interview.” Niall groans, because, well, the interview.

“Yeah, fuck the interview. Go home and rest. I’ll come over when we’re done and see how you are.”

Times like these make Niall astonished that Harry is real. He’s too good to be true. “Thanks, Haz,” he murmurs as Harry helps him back onto his feet. Harry kisses his cheek, but his lips linger longer than they ever have before. Niall, of course, turns bright red.

“‘S no problem, babe.”

\---

Niall gets home by way of Harry begging Paul to drive him back, asking to trust that they can’t get into that much trouble in a closed interview and that Niall is really sick. He agrees, probably against his better judgment, because Niall knows he looks like shit and everyone else in the room can see it.

When he gets home, he waves Paul off so he can drive—most likely speed—back to the other four boys. He goes inside and slides a spare key under the mat outside his flat’s door before shutting it, hoping Harry will come through with his promise to come over. At the moment, all he wants to do is go back to sleep, so he begins to shuck his clothes while he walks back to his room, leaving a Hansel and Gretel trail behind him. Clad in nothing but pants, he collapses on his bed and falls asleep within seconds.

When he sleeps, he dreams, just like anyone else. But when Niall dreams, he dreams that he’s not sick, that he’s with Harry, just soaking up his presence, kissing him and stealing some of his perfection in the meeting of their lips. In his dreams, Harry kisses a line from Niall’s lips down his neck, stopping at his collarbone before slowly (painstakingly) making his way down his torso, grinning when Niall’s whole body flushes just from the anticipation. Harry pauses at the elastic line of Niall’s pants, nosing into the velvet trail of hair just above, picking up the very Niall-esque scent.

It’s clouded, but he feels smooth fingers ghosting trails up and down his body, leaving goose pimples in their wake and making him turn his head and breathe out a moan into his pillow. He feels kisses edging their way up his right thigh, getting just to the hem of his pants before moving back down the left, still agonizingly slow. When he feels a hot breath crest over his erection, his eyes flutter open, despite how much he wants to remain in his dream.

It’s not until he looks down and sees the mass of brown curls belonging to one Harry Styles between his legs that he’s much happier to be awake.

Niall meets Harry’s eyes, but Harry says nothing, just uses the pause to ask if this is okay. Niall gives the smallest of nods, still on the brink of sleep, but Harry sees it anyway. He reaches two fingers in either side of the elastic and strips Niall bare, carelessly tossing the pants away, staring in awe at Niall’s cock as if it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, brightly flushed like the rest of him and very, very hard.

Harry does one more round of tender kisses on Niall’s inner thighs, leaving the occasional love bite tucked away above where the hemline sits, where it can be their secret. Niall nudges Harry’s face with his thigh, overeager and—oh God, is he panting? Harry smiles, dimples and all, and gets the message, pecks kisses all the way up the shaft before planting one right at the tip.

Niall gets lost in the warmth when Harry’s mouth finally opens and starts to take him in, and he’s pretty sure that God couldn’t have made Harry because wow, those lips are actually sinful, plump and pink and sliding wetly down, farther and farther, stretching just a little as they take more. Harry’s tongue is pressed flat against Niall, making the sensation that much more intense. When he comes back up for air, he swirls his tongue around the tip, licks all the way down and back up. He teases, putting just the tip in his mouth and coming off a few times before easily going all the way down.

Niall has one hand gripping the sheets beneath him and reaches one hand up to fist his fingers into Harry's curls, pulling just enough, breathing heavy. He's sure he's a sight right now, bottom lip bitten and eyes rolled nearly back into his head, but he doesn't give a shit how he looks, because this feels so good and Harry's humming around his cock now and he can't help but chant a breathy "Ah, fuck, fuck, oh God this is-- _oh_." He feels himself hit the back of Harry's throat, involuntarily bucking up into his mouth, and Harry, bless him, Harry just lets Niall fuck his mouth, gagging not even a passing thought.

It doesn't take long for him to come like this, and Harry takes it all, swallows it like a pro, and pops his mouth off, pink lips swollen and wet. He takes a moment to wrap his hand around himself, tugging and twisting a few times before crying out and coming, eyes closed as he shudders. He blinks, once, twice, before languidly crawling up the bed to lie beside Niall with a sated smile on.

"Morning, Nialler," he says gently, pressing a kiss to the corner of Niall's lips. "How you doing?"

Niall holds Harry closer, beaming, his eyes still heavy lidded from pleasure and sleep. "Much better, now."

"Good."


End file.
